


Mr. Boombastic

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A big dumb pair of losers, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Sex, M/M, Multi, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jean is the least smooth and yet somehow, does not get his ass kicked. Even if he absolutely deserves it.</p><p>Eren punches his leg once though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Boombastic

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for a friend, who specifically requested erejean based off of [this.](https://38.media.tumblr.com/ce746e86b8b60d624a49a7e87742a2cd/tumblr_n840k1seE11rw7r23o1_250.png) The musical milestone, "Mr. Boombastic" by Shaggy, has approximately nothing to do with this story, though it is recommended listening.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, asshole.
> 
> On a less personal note this is going to be my last fic for a while -- real life happenings have made it mostly impossible to write both professionally and for fandom at the same time. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm burning out something fierce on my fics. Gonna slap a hiatus notice on them now, but I hope this is a suitable offering in the meantime.

_love to come in that ass_

She was the sun. And her ass was the moon. He’d known Mikasa Ackerman for three weeks. She was in his Short Story Lit class, and they had study group together. She was perhaps the hottest woman Jean had seen in real life, even more so than his scorchingly hot, all natural blonde high school girlfriend. Who had shat on his heart when she left him for a chain smoking lesbian transfer student from Barcelona. (Don’t talk to him about Historia Reiss. Ever.) But Mikasa had her beat by a mile and a half, and that was without eight pounds of make-up. The girl was a straight up dime.

And it wasn’t her phone beeping.

“—the _fuck?_ ”

The strings section of his internal symphony hit the chords like it was a Hollywood slasher and Jean was a naked chick in the shower. 

“What’s wrong, Eren?” Mikasa chimed in. Eren waved her off with some neanderthalic grunting, but slouched lower and boggled at his phone even more. 

Jean curled over, eyes bulging as he texted with the haste of a formula one racer. 

_sorry wrong person_

_How are u doing_

Jean watched the screen tersely and pretended like he wasn’t sweating buckets. Maybe if he played statue long enough both he and his messages would turn invisible and Mikasa’s dick-nose step brother would not come over here to punch him in the neck. 

Eren Jaeger was also in the study group, and on the first day when they were all exchanging phone numbers he had entered Mikasa as “Please Touch Me” and Eren as “Please Don’t Touch Me.” (Hence his epic cock up right now, seeing as they were snug and cozy together in his contact list.) The guy was an All Caps extravaganza. He had fifty opinions about everything and forty nine of them were always stupid. They had already gotten friendly with each other’s knuckles. Twice. Liquor was involved. The study group had unanimously opted to not go drinking together ever again.

Jean could see him now from the corner of his eye. Through the bookshelf on dental apprenticeship, at a study table with his step sister and his one and only friend Blond Velma (fuck if he knew the dude’s real name), and staring at his phone like he had just been forced to pull it out of a urinal. 

Well it was a Blackberry. That’s probably where he found it.

Jean crouched lower in his seat and pretended not to be glued to his phone. School work. Yes, pick up his pencil, what a great student he was. Marvel at him solving for x. He couldn’t help sneaking another glance to the bookshelf. Mikasa was silently turning the pages of _Flowers for Algernon_ , unaware of the dark turn events had taken. On the plus side, he could probably come up with a smoother approach when he sexted her for real.

His phone buzzed. 

_who is this_

Jean blinked. Did Eren not have his number? Or was he, as Jean often suspected, confused and alarmed by modern technology? He touched his fingers to his lips thoughtfully.

_ur old gym coach._

He toasted his wit with a silent snicker. His phone buzzed again, rattling the table. _fuck you_

_already di-_

He caught Eren rising, peering suspiciously through the bookshelves, and Jean abandoned the premature message and dropped the phone into his lap. He returned to solving for that rascally x. No one but diligent Jean Kirschtein over here, respectable college freshman and dashing bachelor. 

He could almost feel those bloo bloo Disney eyes narrowing at him. There was the clicking of buttons (Blackberries, goddamn, why not just tape a note to a snail) and his phone vibrated directly on top of his dick. Shit. That was not what he needed right now.

Neither was Eren coming round the corner to breathe at him like a snooty vicar from the end of his table. Jean sweated and did his best impression of his dour teen years. Particularly the times when his Mom would barge in to demand he do his laundry. “What.”

Eren held up his loser phone and asked him flatly, “Who were you trying to send this too?”

If he said Mikasa, Eren would beat him to death with the whole table. He tried for an alternative. “…You?” 

It was nice knowing you, world. Good thing he told his Mom to make sure he had a sweet funeral by the beach last year when he got a deathly case of mono.

Eren stared at him, the wrinkle between his untamable brows deepening into canyon territory. “Are you serious?”

“Sure am.”

Jean did not move. Neither did Eren. It was clearly a joke but there was something wholly unreadable working through Eren’s face. Possibly the struggle of having to rub his two remaining brain cells together to figure out what sarcasm was. His stare was heated and more than slightly uncomfortable to bear the brunt of. After a very unnecessary and fisticuffs-free pause, Eren finally said, “Can I talk to you outside?”

So then he had worked it out for himself. Jean grunted. Eren took it as a yes and walked stiffly out of the library, and Blond Velma was peering at Jean over a shelf like a snoopy neighbor. He nearly flipped him the bird but he found himself being gutted by Mikasa’s unreadable stare, piercing through the bookshelves and straight into his soul. Jean smiled a crooked smile and gave an affable wave. Neither returned it.

Ah, fuck it. He left the library with a dejected huff. Might as well get this over with. He was a green belt in judo. Like three years ago. But still, neither one of them was drunk this time and he was both taller and (marginally) broader, so he was pretty sure he can toss Eren Jaeger into the pavement if he had to.

~*~

Or Eren could blow him in the back of his second hand Mustang. That worked too.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how are you even—“ Jean’s head knocked hard against the window as Eren sucked, hollowing out his cheeks and drawing back from the base of his dick to the very tip. And then he went straight back down again, absolutely no pause. There was a very real possibility that he was moonlighting as a porn star to get through school because there was no way a normal human should be able to gobble down a cock that fast and not choke and die. He swallowed around him and his tongue, hot and broad, dragged against the pulsing vein at the bottom of his dick as he bobbed up. And down. Up and down, up and down, _oh Christ_ and he was rubbing his balls with his hand so roughly, yet somehow that was a good thing. Like the scratches he had left on his hips not four minutes ago, still angry red and raised. Jean groaned and rubbed Eren’s hair. His silky stupid hair. “Thank God I fucked up,” he said, thin and breathy and head still one with the window.

Eren pulled off. “What?” he asked huskily.

“Don’t – shut up!” Jean spluttered. He tried to push his head back down, but Eren dodged, squinting.

“Fucked up what?”

“Don’t stop now you asshole!”

Eren raised upwards, hands braced on Jean’s thighs and jaw dropped. His pupils were thinning out to specks in a void of fairy princess green. “That wasn’t—“

“Eren don’t—“

“That message wasn’t for me?”

Jean could cry. Smack dab in the middle of the best blowjob he’d had in ages, Eren had discovered how to problem solve. Jean groaned and ran a palm down his face in deep regret. 

But when he deigned to look again Eren knocked the wind out of him without moving a muscle. He was used to his belligerence. He’d come to equate it with the pressing need to roll his eyes or match it with angry caveman growls of his own, but the urge to do either is far beyond him when the brimming fury is matched with parted lips, still an abused rouge and now open in shock; and the lines between his sparse brows speak more to horror, while the sheen in his eyes glimmers like he might leak droves of tears should Jean breathe too hard in his direction.

Jean realized he didn’t just fuck up. He had royally fucked up. It was suddenly very difficult to parse out something to say. “I’m sorry?” 

Eren’s fist nailed him in the quads.

“ _OW,_ shit!”

“You fucking asshole!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Like fuck you are! You were just gonna let me…” Eren trailed off, and Jean wasn’t so sure he wasn’t choking up, because his lips had snapped together in a wholly cartoonish pout for half a second before he pulled them back in his trademark grimace. He made to punch his nose and Jean just barely caught him by the wrist. The backseat was cramped and made for toddlers so he skimmed the top of his head when he zipped upright, yanking at Eren's arm so he couldn’t pull away from him.

“Look, yes, fine, it was a misfire, but if I had known you were hot for me I wouldn’t have –“

“I was _hot_ for you?” Eren spat, “I have never been hot for you!”

Jean sneered, disbelieving. “Then why’d you crack my head against the wall trying to make out with me the minute we left the building?”

Eren’s face flushed and not in the sexy sense. (Not intentionally. Even now Jean was having a hard time focusing when his lips still look so swollen and his spit is drying on his cock and fuck him, those stupid glimmer glam David Bowie fabulous glitter eyes were shooting at him like fucking moonbeams in the lazy light of afternoon.) “Shut up! I thought you were hot for me, you sack of shit!”

“Well if you’re dragging me to my truck and pulling my dick out of my pants then you would have to be pretty damn hot for me too!”

“And you were just going to let me blow you in the back of your dumb truck like an idiot and call it a day?”

“No!” Jean retaliated. 

Eren tried to wrench his arm free and go for the door handle but Jean couldn’t let him, that look he’d given him was still dicing up his insides to itty bitty pieces and he hated Eren for it. It was like that time he’d told Sasha her butt seemed bigger lately – which was absolutely a compliment might he add – and she’d burst into crocodile tears and Connie tried to deck him in the eye. Except worse. This is definitely worse.

Also his boner hurt.

“Listen – man, fine, at first I was really not even up for it, but you then you were kissing me instead of trying to kick my ass and then I just thought…” Eren was pinning him with a death glare that turned his throat was drier than the Sahara, but he had to keep going. Jean was babbling and it was not smooth in the slightest, but at this point it was either exorcise the icky pains inside of him or die of bad feelings. “We were making out and I kind of considered that maybe you’re like, kinda hot, I mean for a dude, and that…sometimes…you have a point. In class. Sometimes. But I still maintain that The Swimmer is not an analogy for E.D.”

“Screw you, it totally is. He starts out strong and popular then after he’s swam all that way his house is just empty for no reason—“

“OH MY GOD.” Jean clapped his palm over Eren’s dumb wet mouth (his boner might have started to wilt but that gives it a little boost, and Lord he needs help) and barked out in indignation. “Shut up, John Cheever has no place in this conversation! I’m trying to tell you that I decided I’m really glad it’s you in here and not who I was trying to text.”

Eren’s eyes are thin, evil slits and he backhands Jean’s clamp of silence off his mouth. “Yeah. Because I ended up sucking your dick.”

“No, because you’re -- _not_ an asshole.” The words are torture to spit out. “Asshole” is his mantra wherever Eren is concerned, it’s the title he uses to describe him to his friends, his mom, on his blog, what he thinks when he’s writing his papers and practices whatever counterarguments he knows he’s going to need against the guy the next morning. When he thinks about him driving to campus. When he eats mashed potatoes. When he…

Like the beacon of light from a close encounter of the third kind, it dawned upon him. Jean’s face fell. Eren amped up the squint by three notches. 

“Not an asshole. Great. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Eren scoffed. 

“I don’t ever stop thinking about you.” 

That stopped him dead. “…What?”

“Well, it’s true.” When Eren didn’t say anything Jean felt every organ in him flatten to the floor, and he wiped at his brow with a haggard grimace. “You know what? Just go. I’m a huge dick. You’re right.”

He didn’t go. Eren never listened and this was no exception. He just sat there, brows squeezed together and mouth just barely open. Jean grunted and moved to tuck himself back in but Eren locked his fingers over his wrist before he could. He clambered over, face stuck in that consternated mask he always wore, but the kiss he put on Jean’s lips was tender and saccharine.

Jean pulled back and conked his head on the window on the way. Puzzling out what Eren was thinking was impossible. He still looked perplexed. Sizing up something Jean couldn’t see. And instead of saying anything he just went to kiss him again. His hand was at Jean’s cheek in a soft hold as he took his lips like they were something sacred. Savory. Jean’s heart sputtered to life and very suddenly, he’s afraid for reasons that have been battering at the barricades he’s locked them in since the day he met Eren.

“You’re not a dick,” Eren asserted. He hadn’t moved back more than two inches to depart the sentiment, his pert nose near brushing the sharp tip of Jean’s, eyes even more brilliant up close. “You’re just stupid.”

“Absolutely nothing you’re doing is making sense right now,” Jean muttered. 

“You’re not used to liking guys, are you?” 

“I…” His throat clogged up in half a heartbeat. Jean swallowed and tried again. “I just. Like. _Once._ And that was an exception.” Or it was supposed to be. You shouldn’t talk to him about Marco Bodt either, though that hurt in a way entirely different from Historia. Six years later and he still couldn’t stand being in hospitals.

“It’s not though.” Eren kissed him again and Jean wilted under him like a goddamn daisy, sliding half an inch down the seat. “I guess I owe you an apology too,” he departed with a sigh, tilting back a little and glancing uneasily off to the side. “You looked like you were always chasing Mikasa’s skirts and it pissed me off.”

“Uh—”

“For a lot of reasons.” Eren thumbed the lapels of Jean’s shirt, sullen. Then he pulled them back and buried his forehead there. Somehow it gave less of a touch-me-hold-me vibe than a hide-from-these-scary-emotions one. “I’m…no. I’m definitely the asshole.” He lingered in the refuge of Jean’s shoulder and so turned the silence into a pounding countdown. The breath he took was deep enough to pass the shudder on from his own spine to Jean’s, and Eren finally retracted with a grim frown. He looked as if he might fracture all over again and the dour look on his face was the only string tying him together. “I got dumped two weeks ago.”

Jean’s mouth closes with a soft click. Nothing seemed right to say, and so he just reached up to rub Eren’s arm like he was soothing a wound. 

“So I guess I just took this and ran with it. It’s been…pretty shitty.” He bowed his head. “Thought about dropping out and coming back next semester.”

“Don’t do that.” Jean scooted upward and slid his hand around Eren’s neck, thumb drifting over the curve of his jaw. “Trust me, it’ll make it worse. You’ll just be sitting at home like a dick with nothing to do and you’ll go crazy.”

Eren didn’t answer. His lips pulled back like he might click his tongue, but he dodged the next moment. The view out the front window held none of his attention even if his eyes were glued to it.

“Should we go back inside?” Jean proposed. He’s all but deflated by now even with the speckling of kisses. Yet Eren only frowned more. He wrapped his fingers around Jean’s wrist and turned to kiss the palm.

“Can we not?” he murmured into his hand, eyes flicking to meet Jean’s. “If that’s okay with you?”

Oh no, that wasn’t fair. Eren was kissing his hand again and was running his fingers over Jean’s stomach, gliding over buttons and cotton alike. Jean squirmed. “Is it okay with you?” It may be a struggle but he still managed to pull his hand away, grip Eren by the shoulders to hold him at bay. He hadn’t gotten laid in ages and though he wanted to protest that he deserves sainthood for turning it down now, he knew it would be even shittier than letting Eren blow him under false pretenses. He was a greedy little fuck up, but he had his moments of clarity. “Dude, you just said you’re in a crap place right now. This was kind of messed up to begin with, anyway.”

“Yeah, but,” Eren’s voice cracked and he bit at his lip. “I wasn’t…being that honest before.”

“Well neither was I. Like at all.”

“No. I mean I did think you were hot.”

Jean’s heart was evicted from his chest and slummed it out in his throat. “Pardon you?”

“Which is half the reason I jumped on that text.”

“You’re not shitting me?” Jean shook his head. “It’s not a rebound?”

“No, I don’t want it to be a rebound, asshole.” Eren grumbled and fidgeted under Jean’s grip. “I want to finish.”

“Are we going out?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“A _legitimate one._ ”

“Well, if you want to fucking go out, then let’s go out!”

Jean blinked at him. As much as he would like to protest – and as much as he still thinks Mikasa is one of the top ten hottest people to ever live – the answer came to him like an anvil from above, sudden and obliterating. “Okay,” he said with a shrug.

Eren stared. Then, hesitantly, he nodded, as if accepting a mission to invade Russia in winter. Determined against all impossible odds. “But not right now, I have French in half an hour.”

“What the fuck are you learning French for? It’s useless.”

“Isn’t your mom from Quebec?”

“And she’s one of the five people in Wisconsin that still speaks it. Skip and get chili fries with me.”

“My attendance is already shit. Chili fries after.” Eren rolled his eyes and pawed his way back down, nimble fingers already scooping up his dick and coaxing it back to life. He licked the tip and kissed it sweetly. Jean groaned and grabbed him by the head.

“Wait. Let me do you. This isn’t fair.” He wrestled himself upright. “I already fucked you over. Let me make it up to you.”

“You wanna make it up to me?” Eren rose, the glint turned wicked in his gaze. He kissed Jean on the mouth with a budding hunger, tugging on his hair while his other hand works his cock. “How about you make good on that message?”

Jean faltered. “For serious?” 

Eren peppered him with more kisses, bullying him back against the window. “For serious,” he murmured against Jean’s mouth.

Jean’s arm jabbed out in want the console. “Condoms,” he hissed, urgency dogging his heels. It wasn’t much trouble to get his cock back to standing after all.

While it might be his first time with a guy that counted, because there’s actual Tab A to Slot B action going on, Jean found that it wasn’t that hard. Or weird. Or bad in any conceivable fashion, aside from the heavy duty feelings talk they’d just slogged through, but even that faded away when he slipped inside and Eren made this unholy groan that shot straight to his balls. It wasn’t an optimal space for doing dirty deeds so they were pulling a bit of contortionism to make it work. Eren had one knee on the floor and the other was hefted onto the seat at a right angle, and he was clinging to the corner of the cushion with one hand braced on the door. Jean was snug behind him, hugging around his middle and legs swaddled by Eren’s thigh and the edge of the seat. His forehead was resting on the nape of Eren’s neck, and he couldn’t resist planting a kiss or two there when they start to move. 

He should also send a big thank you to whatever heavenly spirit reminded him to replenish his lube supply when he last picked up Trojans, because otherwise this would be very not fun at all.

In contrast, this definitely was not Eren’s first time with a dude. He pulled this filthy trick with his hips, some kind of pop that catches Jean off guard and then he rubbed himself straight into Jean’s pelvis with lewd, tormentuous circles. He had the gall to laugh when Jean gasped in surprise.

“Sure you can keep up?” he goaded over his shoulder, voice gone raspy.

Jean scowled and bit down on the stretch of olive skin as he rammed forward. It was Eren’s turn to gasp then, the cocky little shit.

It was so tacky, but he was not just a little proud when the truck started to rock back and forth, creaking on its old springs. They don’t manage to be quiet either, even if Jean’s mouth was locked down on Eren’s neck and Eren was chomping on the heel of his hand. Eventually all pretenses are lost: they’re a public menace by the time Jean’s reared back and shoving Eren onto his dick by the waist. Eren’s hands are the sole clear spot on the fogged window and he’s yowling, spewing an endless stream of “yes,” and “God!” and “Jean Jean Jean!” Someone outside giggled as they passed but neither one could bring themselves to give half a shit.

It ended in a pile of bruises. Eren had clattered his head on the cup holder, panting in delight, and Jean buckled over top of him while nursing the elbow he’d knocked against the roof. Somehow. Fuck him if he can remember what happened. He tugged Eren up and they wriggle around each other so that Jean can fit his mouth over Eren’s cock, because hell if he was going to be scrubbing come out of the upholstery. It didn’t take a lot of effort to make him blow by that point, which Jean takes as a victory. Plus one to his anal pounding stats. He still gagged on it though, spitting up a bit as Eren laughed and wiped his face clean.

“Shit,” Jean grumbled, still swallowing with his nose in a scrunch. It’s not a bad taste, exactly. Just weird. “You’re not wearing a condom.”

“Neither were you to start,” Eren countered. “I’m clean.”

“So am I.”

“Well then we’re good.”

Jean clucked his tongue. “We’re still stupid though.”

To that Eren had to agree, conceding with a nod and kissing the matter away. They fumble to rebutton, straighten their hair and clear the sweat from their brows. “Class ends in an hour. Pick me up?”

“I’ll be here. My next one is seven, so I’m just gonna kick around.”

“Okay.” Eren grinned broadly, and Jean felt as if he might die. It was probably a good thing Eren defaulted to constipated turmoil in public because his smile was too bright to behold. Jean’s face might melt off if he stared too long. Luckily he was spared from such cruel fates when Eren dipped in one last time to kiss him, all tongue and nimble fingers stroking over his cheek like Jean was some god-sent gift to man and not another X-Box addicted tool in the masses. It ached tremendously when he pulled away. “Later.”

And then he was out of Jean’s truck, the door slamming shut with a heavy thud. At last, Jean was able to catch his breath.

He took a moment to just sit in it, ride out the last waves of giddy pleasure. Then he climbed into the front seat and retrieved his phone, whipping it out to tap one last message for the day.

_next time i’m gonna plow you in your own bed_

Jean leaned back with a wolfish grin. He rubbed the dying fog from the window to watch Eren and the hug his jeans had around his ass as he traipsed back towards the campus library doors. The phone buzzed. Eren hadn’t pulled his out of his pocket.

He had a new message from ‘Please Touch Me’.

_Jean tell me where you took Eren right now and I will only break one of your arms_

Jean wheezed like the drowning and stabbed his keys into the ignition. The double doors to the school parted like the Red Sea and Mikasa Ackerman stood in the center, a vengeful Moses with the wind whipping her hair as she roved her eyes over her step brother, mortified and halted dead in his tracks, to Jean, revving his engine to life and sending his tires squealing when he hit the pedal to the medal.

Now he’d officially fucked up.


End file.
